


The Show Must Go On

by stormypetrel



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27605657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormypetrel/pseuds/stormypetrel
Summary: TheLiberatorcrew are in need of an elusive piece of circuitry, and Tarrant thinks he’s found somewhere which can provide it...
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	1. Temperance

**Author's Note:**

> _This began quite innocently as a response to Horizon’s January 2020 Fanfic Challenge. Then a throwaway comment convinced me to link all the year’s prompts together as one long story - and now it’s coming up for December, I thought it was about time I collected them together. Call it the poor man’s version of having your serial turned into a single-volume novel in time for Christmas. And hope I don’t spot any continuity errors, now..._
> 
> _Chapter headings are the original Horizon prompts._

“And you’re sure about this?” Avon looked appraisingly at Tarrant. “Valspar Minor?”

“That’s what the message said.”

“Assuming we trust the message.”

“If Purnell says he’s there, he’s there. I’d trust him to want the chance of selling us what we need, at least.”

“Selling?”

Tarrant sighed. “All right; swapping.” The rest of the _Liberator’s_ crew eyed him suspiciously.

“What are you thinking of swapping this time?” inquired Vila. “Or should I say, who?”

“Not you,” retorted Tarrant. “Valspar Minor wouldn’t suit you, anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Valspar Minor, Vila, is a dry planet,” explained Avon.

“Dry... you mean...”

“The punishment for the consumption of alcohol is flogging.”

Vila blinked. “I think I’ll stay here.” He thought for a moment, then queried, “I wonder what they do drink, then?”

“Water?” suggested Tarrant.

“Clear liquid, doesn’t taste of much...” Dayna elaborated kindly. Vila frowned; Tarrant grinned.

“You must have had it at some point. Or were you weaned from mother’s milk straight onto adrenaline and soma?”

“Mother’s milk? I didn’t have your sheltered upbringing. You mean Federation Dried, out of tins, the same as everyone else,” retorted Vila. “And the cod liver oil... I could have done with a drop of soma to take away the taste of that stuff...” He pulled a reminiscent face. “But you didn’t drink the water, if you could help it. They put things in it, you know.”

Tarrant laughed at this solemn claim. “That old wives’ tale?”

“It isn’t!” Vila looked indignant. “Maybe it’s all right for you lot, with your fancy filter jugs and things, but not where I come from. You try making a cup of tea with Dome water.”

“That process is hardly confined to the service grades,” Avon informed him.

“Well, then. All that scummy stuff that appears on top? That’s the suppressants, floating to the surface...”

“Rubbish,” said Tarrant.

“And think how many people it’s been through, before it even got to you. I used to know someone who worked at the sewage treatment plant. If you want to risk it... at least alcohol kills bugs.” Vila glanced across at Cally for assistance. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“In certain circumstances, yes, but...”

“I’m not saying you _can’t_ clean water,” he admitted. “But it tastes awful if you do it properly. We got some from the fellow next door sometimes; he had this set-up with flasks and copper pipes...”

“A still,” said Avon.

“Are you sure that was water?” inquired Tarrant.

“Yes! That was. He did make other stuff...”

“Which I suppose you sampled more often?” Dayna suggested.

“I didn’t. What use is a blind thief?”

“Probably as much use as one who isn’t blind.”

"Where are we to meet Purnell, then?" Avon broke in, disregarding the potential argument.

Tarrant looked amused. "He said at Fitz's bar."

"Bar?" Vila was distracted from trying to think of a suitable retort to Dayna's insult. "But you said..."

"Fitz's _temperance_ bar. Get yourself ready. It'll be a new experience for you!"


	2. ‘They’ve found out about us, they’re coming!’

Fitz’s bar was surprisingly loud and crowded, which at least meant that four newcomers walking in didn’t draw much attention. Their contact, however, got to his feet instantly.

“Drink?” he offered casually.

“Why not?” agreed Tarrant. They crowded up to the bar; Avon and Tarrant intent on Purnell, Dayna and Vila more interested in their surroundings.

“The relay connector?” inquired Avon impatiently. Purnell nodded.

“I can get you in,” he agreed. “Although we weren’t expecting so many of you...”

“We?” Avon glanced at the three men Purnell indicated, and frowned. 

“You can trust them...”

“As much as we can trust you, no doubt. They will stay here.”

“But there’s four of you!”

“You want to even the odds? Tarrant and Vila can stay and keep an eye on your... friends. Dayna and I will come with you.”

Dayna laughed. “The perfect job for you, Vila. Propping up a bar.” She grinned as she followed Avon and Purnell out; Vila turned resignedly to Tarrant, lifting his glass.

“Cheers.”

* * *

Propping up the bar, it turned out, seemed to be all that was required. Purnell’s companions showed no sign of doing anything other than staying put. Three drinks in, Tarrant was looking distinctly bored; Vila, sipping reluctantly at his latest attempt to find something palatable, was becoming uncomfortably aware that even non-alcoholic drinks were better not mixed. He leant over and nudged Tarrant.

“Are we going to be here much longer? Only I’ve got a nasty feeling...”

“It’s called sobriety.”

“Oh, yes, very funny. Where have the others got to?”

“I don’t suppose it’s a five minute job.”

“But why do we need to stay here? We could have waited on the _Liberator..._ ”

“Because Avon wants us to watch Purnell’s men.”

“I wouldn’t mind if there was something decent to drink. This stuff’s disgusting.” Vila shifted unhappily. “I don’t think it likes me much, either.”

“Who can blame it?” remarked Tarrant. Vila grimaced, tried his drink again rather than answer, then pushed it away with finality. “Afraid it’ll poison you? I suppose it is all herbal; if you mix things up the way you’ve been doing...”

Vila paled. “Shut up, Tarrant,” he said with a gulp.

“If you’re feeling that bad, go outside. It’s not as if you’re any help in here. I can watch them myself.”

Vila swallowed again, glanced round the crowded bar, and slid off his stool with a faint nod. He edged over to the back door and into the yard, leaning against the outside wall in relief. There was a small group of men already outside, but they paid him no attention; he sidled out of view anyway, not feeling up to casual conversation. Hidden in a corner, he contemplated calling for teleport; Cally could always come and take his place. He could manage the teleport controls instead; better still, Orac could manage the teleport controls, while he went for a lie down... His thoughts were rudely interrupted by the conversation of the men in the yard, suddenly audible as they came closer.

“...Servalan should be here soon. She’s going to be very pleased with us. Purnell should really be more careful who he talks to. He’s keeping Avon and the girl busy, no doubt; they should be being collected about now. The other two are in there...”

For a second Vila was stunned into immobility; then he fumbled for his bracelet.

“Avon!” He stumbled over the words, approaching panic. “They’ve found out about us, they’re coming!”


	3. Lust

Tarrant had struggled when the group overheard by Vila had marched into the bar and made their intentions plain; but as there were three of them and one of him, the final result had been inevitable. Their mood had not improved when he had refused to disclose Vila’s current whereabouts; not that he had any hopes of rescue from that particular quarter, but still... Battered and bruised, he had been dragged off by the little gang. Nobody in the bar, least of all Purnell’s men, had lifted a finger to help.

His heart sank still further as they arrived at a grey, unprepossessing building where he was flung into a grey, even less prepossessing cell. His cellmates, however, were familiar.

“We wondered when you would arrive,” said Avon, leaning against the wall. “Where’s Vila?”

Tarrant took in his disinterested expression, Dayna’s obvious fury and Purnell’s despair, and shrugged.

“Probably being sick in Fitz’s yard. It seemed to be the most pressing thing on his mind when I last saw him. I doubt he’s even noticed I’ve gone.”

“Well, he noticed something. Just in time to warn us so it was overheard and our teleport bracelets removed.” Avon sounded irritated; Tarrant glanced down at his own bracelet, only to see a large crack running across it.

“Mine’s no good either. It must have broken in the fight. What’s going on, anyway? Who’s behind this?”

“Servalan,” said Dayna expressively. Tarrant looked sharply at Purnell, but their contact only sat with his head in his hands.

“You have to get us out of this,” he moaned. Avon and Tarrant both looked at him disgustedly; Dayna was more vocal in her opinion.

“Why? _You_ got us into it.”

“Not on purpose! I never meant...”

“You never meant what?” Avon sounded dangerous.

“It was Arva; he said he knew a way to make a bit extra on the side... I shouldn’t have trusted him...” Purnell’s expression said he never had trusted Arva, but the lust for money had overruled common sense; the others turned their backs on him in revulsion. “It seemed like easy money.”

“No doubt it did,” agreed Avon. “You didn’t think there would be a catch to it?”

“Such as not living long enough to receive it?” Dayna sounded as if she was considering killing Purnell herself if Servalan didn’t get round to it first. He moaned hopelessly.

“She isn’t going to keep us locked up in here for ever,” Tarrant pointed out. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any idea what she’s planning, or didn’t they tell you that either?”

Purnell nodded. “We’re all going to die...”

“Apart from that inevitable fact of life, have you anything useful to say?” queried Avon.

“You don’t understand...”

“Then explain!”

“I recognise this place. It’s the headquarters of the VVC- the Valspar Minor Viscast Company. They’ve been trying to win back ratings from the other broadcasters... and I think we’re about to be the bait in their trap.” Purnell gulped. “They were talking about a new reality format. A live fugitive hunt. To the death.”

As if on cue, the door opened, and the guards re-entered. They smiled nastily, the bloodlust in their eyes all too obvious.

“You’re wanted.”


	4. The crew seem to have ended up in a Vidcast Reality Show...

Nobody was surprised when they were led into Servalan’s presence. She gestured to the guards, who stepped back, but remained, waiting, in case of trouble.

“So you are here,” she observed. “I was beginning to wonder if I had been misinformed.” She gave Purnell a dark glance; he quailed.

“N...no, Madam President. It was my man who contacted you... I’m quite reliable... I’m not with these people, really...”

“No? We had better deal with you separately, then,” suggested Servalan sweetly. She gestured to the guards again; Purnell was led off, still protesting. “Although I was told there were four of you...” She looked expectantly at the other three.

“Apparently not,” answered Avon.

“No matter. Three of you will do to begin with; no doubt we can add any extra contestants at a later date.”

“Contestants?” asked Dayna.

“Didn’t anyone tell you? Your friend Purnell volunteered you all for the pilot episode...”

“The fugitive hunt,” Tarrant broke in. Dayna and Avon glared at him; Servalan smiled.

“Exactly.”

* * *

Vila had hardly realised that his last-minute warning attempt had gone unheeded before he saw one of Purnell’s men slip surreptitiously out of the bar’s back door.

“Hey!” He was about to ask for help, then saw the man’s look of satisfaction at locating him. “Oh. Now can’t we...” Judging by his opponent’s menacing grin, they couldn’t. “Cally, teleport _now!_ ”

He arrived on board the _Liberator_ white-faced and wild-eyed.

“What happened? Where is everyone?” Cally was startled.

“It was a trap. Servalan... they knew about us...”

“What?!”

“They’ve got them.”

“Then why haven’t they got you? Weren’t you with the others?”

“I was supposed to be with Tarrant... he said he didn’t need me.” Cally’s silent reproach was clearly not aimed at the missing Tarrant. “I wasn’t feeling well,” said Vila defensively, looking as if he wished he hadn’t reminded himself.

“We can’t just abandon them.”

“I didn’t say we should!” 

“You’ll have to go back. See if you can find out what’s happened.”

“Me? Do I have to? I don’t think it does you any good, you know, drinking that temperance stuff; at least, it hasn’t me...”

“Then I’ll go,” said Cally impatiently. “Can you operate the teleport?”

Vila nodded; Orac broke in from the table.

“Your intervention may be badly timed. I am picking up a most unusual broadcast...”

“Shut up, Orac.”

Cally held up a hand to stop Vila’s protest. “Wait. Orac, what is this broadcast? Is it to do with the others?”

“It is. If you _are_ interested, I suggest you proceed to the flight deck to view it.”

“A viscast?” Vila carried Orac through; after a pause, the viscast appeared on the screen. 

“These contestants,” a presenter was saying, “have been given fugitive status, and will now officially be on the run. A team of hunters will be tracking their every move, overseen by a neutral figure...” The camera angle changed.

“Servalan?” howled Vila. “Neutral?” Cally shushed him as the camera swung again, this time revealing the three very recognisable ‘contestants’.

“If the fugitives reach their extraction point, they may win their freedom and their life,” went on the presenter. “If the hunters catch them, then... death.”

“That’s barbaric!” Cally, outraged, took a gun from the rack and hurried towards the teleport; Vila continued to stare at the screen as if transfixed. “Vila!”

“What? Oh, yes. Coming.” He hesitated. “You don’t actually want me...”

“Just work the teleport, Vila. I’m going down.”


	5. Prudence

Cally teleported down near the field that had been shown in the viscast; quickly, she scanned her surroundings, gun at the ready, to see if her arrival had been noted. It seemed safe enough, however; all was deserted. Apparently the show had moved on. More worryingly, there was no sign of the others.

“Avon?” She cautiously tried to make contact, but got no response. “Dayna? Tarrant?” Still nothing. “Vila?”

“Yes?” The answer at least proved the problem was not with her own bracelet.

“They aren’t here. I’m going to find them. Make sure you stay by the teleport; we might need you to bring us up quickly.”

“Right.” 

Cally began her search carefully, aware that if the hunters on the trail of her crewmates spotted her, she was likely to become a target herself. A wooded area ahead offered possible shelter; reasoning that she was hardly likely to find the others in the open, she made her way towards it.

Sure enough, there was movement amongst the trees. Concealing herself as best she could, she waited. Two men in uniform appeared; unfamiliar, not Federation black. Both carried guns. Some of the hunters, she assumed, shrinking back further. A rustle from behind her warned she was not the only one watching; turning, she found herself looking at Avon.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Looking for you. We saw the viscast...”

“Then you’ll know we can’t stand talking. Where’s Vila?”

“Working the teleport.”

“They took our bracelets,” Avon pointed out.

“I brought spares,” Cally reassured him. He nodded.

“Then prudence would seem to suggest we leave. Immediately.”

“Dayna and Tarrant?” 

“Over there.” Avon led the way; Cally, following, could not shake the feeling of being watched.

“Avon?” The first shot was fired as she began her warning. “Look out!”

* * *

By the teleport, Vila was worried. If Cally couldn’t find the others; or if she was caught too... he was all alone, and... 

“Think of something else,” he muttered. Then, uncertainly, “Orac? That stuff they drink down there... it’s not really poisonous, like Tarrant said, is it?”

“I fail to see why such a possibility would concern you, given your propensity to consume liquids known to be poisonous to humans when taken in sufficient quantity...”

“I don’t feel well.”

“It is not poisonous. Of course, if another substance were to be added, that might alter matters considerably.”

Vila suddenly remembered Purnell handling the drinks, and felt worse than ever. Orac, oblivious, carried on,

“In that case symptoms could range from mild illness to death...”

“Shut up, Orac!” Vila snatched the key out; there was a whine, then silence. “Are you trying to make me...” He closed his eyes and swallowed, but it was no good; scrambling to his feet, he fled from the teleport section.

* * *

Avon and Cally had begun to run as soon as they realised they had been spotted; rejoining the others, they hurriedly handed out the spare teleport bracelets.

“Vila, bring us up,” instructed Avon. Nothing happened. “Now, Vila!” he shouted as their pursuers came into firing range once more. 

There was still no response. 

“So much for our prudent retreat,” Avon snarled. “Run!”


	6. Entering the orbit of an unfamiliar planet, the crew starts to behave strangely...

“We can’t keep this up.” The truth in Dayna’s words was apparent; it was, at best, a delaying tactic for the _Liberator_ crew to continue trying to outrun their pursuers through an unfamiliar forest.

“Then what do you suggest?” inquired Tarrant.

“That.” Avon’s interruption was unexpected; they looked where he was pointing. Beyond them, in the open, lay a battered but intact craft.

“A two-seater Spacemaster?” Tarrant identified it at once.

“If you object so strongly, you could cut down the overcrowding...”

Tarrant’s objections did not extend that far. They somehow managed to reach the ship safely, allowing themselves a moment’s respite as the door closed.

“If it doesn’t work...” Tarrant was already heading for the controls.

“It may not have to,” Cally pointed out, trying her bracelet once more. “Vila, come in.” There was no response.

“Asleep; or drunk.” Tarrant’s disparagement was automatic. He fought their unlikely craft into life. “Right. Hold on, everyone.”

“There’s not enough room for us to go anywhere!” retorted Dayna, wedged into a corner. 

They saw, rather than heard, shots being fired as the little ship lifted; but apparently nothing fatal was hit. 

“Put us into orbit, and then we’ll dock with the _Liberator_ ,” instructed Avon. 

“And deal with Vila,” added Dayna threateningly. She smiled suddenly, relaxing into her corner, then giggled as the ship bounced. Cally and Avon stared at her oddly.

“Avon, something isn’t right.” Cally looked dismayed as she realised that Avon, too, seemed unnaturally happy.

“Stop worrying,” he said easily. The prospect was attractive, Cally admitted; the atmosphere on board more relaxed than the _Liberator_ had been recently... She tried, with difficulty, to concentrate. Dayna was now giggling helplessly, while Avon looked suspiciously as if he would join her at any moment. Tarrant was sitting at the controls in a manner rather too relaxed to inspire any confidence in his piloting. Somehow this worried Cally less than she thought it should.

“Tarrant,” she began.

“Approaching orbit,” he said cheerfully. His head lolled back; he smiled, and closed his eyes.

“Tarrant!” Cally made an effort. “Wake up!” Tarrant appeared to find this entertaining; Cally, fighting the urge to join in his laughter, turned to Avon, who was grinning inanely to himself. “Avon, something’s wrong. There is something- something in the atmosphere, affecting us.”

Avon nodded, but seemed disinclined to do anything about it until Tarrant opened his eyes once more, stared ahead, and with a yell, caused the ship to veer wildly off course.

“What...” Avon’s smile disappeared.

“There was an asteroid!” yelped Tarrant.

Dayna went into even wilder peals of laughter at this explanation.

“We haven’t even reached orbit yet,” she choked.

“At this rate we never will.” Avon appeared to take hold of himself. “There is no asteroid. Cally’s right; something is affecting us...” He looked dully around the tiny flight deck. “That hissing noise...” 

“Gas!” Cally started to laugh as well, whether from the effects of the gas or at the simplicity of the solution.

“Nitrous oxide... rocket propellant,” agreed Avon, still as if he was coming out of some sort of trance. “We’ve got a leak.” 

“We must get out.” Somehow Cally controlled herself.

Avon nodded, fighting back his own inappropriate laughter. “Yes. Any suggestions?”


	7. Greed

“Cally? Help. Come back... please?” Dead silence in the teleport section; Vila curled up on the bench in despair, trying to ignore rapidly worsening fear. Trust Tarrant to try to make a deal with a poisoner; and then not even have the decency to be the one who was poisoned, just get everyone else captured into the bargain, so there was nobody left to help. Vila was fairly sure he needed help; he couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so ill. Well, maybe once, after his first professional job... 

The sudden memory was vivid enough that he wondered if this was his life flashing in front of his eyes, before- no, it wouldn’t. It _couldn’t_. He was all right. He had been all right that time, hadn’t he? Not that he’d been poisoned, then, but still... 

He had been very proud of being big enough to go out with Tad Merrel’s gang, conveniently ignoring the fact that they really wanted him because he was small enough, at six, to be lifted through a narrow window in order to undo an internal door lock. He had managed that, easily. Not a hard lock, if you could reach it. So the adults had walked straight through the open door, praised their tiny accomplice, and told him to wait by the window he had climbed in, while they got busy.

It was hardly Vila’s fault if they had left him in the food store of a fancy Alpha residence, was it? He was inquisitive, that was all. And hungry, but who wasn’t, where he came from? He hadn’t even heard of some of the things on the shelves, let alone seen them. And thieving was what they were there for...

He had put his chosen career on quite a solid footing by the time he realised that experimental mixtures of Alpha delicacies were incompatible with small Delta stomachs. When Tad’s gang returned, he was feeling very sick and in considerable pain.

The men had been unimpressed.

“What are you snivelling about?”

“I... I don’t... don’t feel very well...”

Tad surveyed the shelves. “I’m not surprised, you greedy little tick!” Vila almost wept at the overt disapproval. “You’ll be lucky if you fit back through the window after that lot. And you know what happens to little boys who get caught stealing, if we have to leave you behind.”

Vila did. Vila was also instantly certain that he wouldn’t fit through the window, and terror increased the pain in his inside to the point that it seemed equally certain he was about to avoid immediate deportation to Cygnus Alpha by dying there and then.

The ignominious end was being carried home to his mother, trying not to sob too obviously into the shoulder of Tad’s tunic. He had stuck to stealing shiny things after that...

He half-opened an eye, checking that it was just a memory, and he was still alive and feeling dreadful on board the _Liberator_. He was; as was Orac, minus key. Dizzily, Vila replaced it.

“Orac, help.”

“In what capacity? I cannot do two things at once.”

“What...” Vila stopped as he saw the teleport controls begin to move. There was a familiar noise; and then the indescribable relief of equally familiar companions appearing in the teleport bay, which he couldn’t hide as he greeted them. “ _What kept you?_ ”


	8. Faith

Avon looked up as Cally returned to the flight deck. “How is he?”

“Quieter now. But I’m not sure that’s a good sign. Orac still can’t work out what he’s been given.”

“I don’t see why he’s been given anything at all,” said Dayna. “If they wanted to poison one of us, why pick Vila? It’s not as if you could call him dangerous.”

“Vila is the only one stupid enough to drink anything put in front of him...” Avon sounded angry, whether with the object of his derision or not; but Tarrant looked up, risking his wrath by breaking a chastened silence.

“He wasn’t picked. It was just bad luck.” Faced with blank looks, he carried on, “Think about it. They only needed one of us to fall ill during that hunt Servalan had arranged- it didn’t matter who. We’d have had to give up. We couldn’t have carried on and left him...”

“That shows an astounding faith in our sense of chivalry,” said Avon, sounding as if he thought such faith was severely misplaced.

“Well, you wouldn’t...”

“Wouldn’t I?” Avon turned his back on Tarrant and addressed Cally. “Is Orac likely to come up with any further information?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We don’t know that it isn’t something designed to wear off in a few hours,” pointed out Dayna. “If the plan was to handicap us for Servalan’s stupid hunt...”

“If it was her idea, I doubt that will be the case.” Avon’s expression was grim.

“It might have been Purnell’s idea,” suggested Tarrant.

“Your trustworthy associate, yes.”

Tarrant flushed. “How was I to know...”

“A glance through his file, perhaps?” 

“I thought...”

“Did you? Now that is a relief. Imagine how things could have turned out if you hadn’t.”

What was threatening to become an argument was halted by the sudden appearance of Vila, swaying in the doorway.

Cally was the first to notice. “Vila! What are you...”

“It _hurts_ ,” he complained desperately.

“I suppose it was too simple to tell us that via the communicator?” suggested Avon, resignedly going to steady him.

“And Orac won’t shut up,” mumbled Vila, allowing Avon to walk him to the couch. “I told him... I don’t want to know the number of lethal poisons in the galaxy...” He curled up where Avon sat him and buried his head between his knees. “And it’s cold...”

“He is cold,” agreed Dayna, checking. Cally unearthed a space blanket from one of the flight deck cubbyholes, and brought it over; Vila accepted it gratefully, shivering under the foil. 

“If Orac can’t work it out, then we’ll have to,” announced Tarrant. “I’ll go back and get the answer out of Purnell; it’s all we can do...”

“That is your plan?” Avon sounded unimpressed. He gave a cynical smile. “Perhaps faith is to be rewarded after all...”

“Do you have a better one?”

“As it happens, no.”

“I’m going to die,” moaned Vila.

“No, you’re not,” Cally told him firmly. “Avon is right. You just need to have a little faith.”

“In Tarrant’s saving me?” Judging by Vila’s tone, his faith was sorely lacking. “I think I’m going to be sick.”


	9. The crew discover there is a stranger aboard...

They weren’t quite sure how it had happened. 

Tarrant had teleported down, alone, after declaring it was his responsibility to find their treacherous contact on the planet below. He had set up the fatal meeting- Vila groaned pitifully at the mention of ‘fatal’- and he would fix the consequences. Nobody argued.

Dayna stood waiting in case Tarrant should call for back-up; Cally sat at the teleport controls. The call, when it came, was simpler than they had expected.

“Bring me up.”

Cally did; but it was not Tarrant who materialised in the teleport bay. She half-rose from her seat at the sight of the stranger; Dayna was quicker.

“You’re not Tarrant,” she observed dangerously, drawing her gun.

“No,” he agreed. “There was a sort of altercation... it wasn’t my fault. And if you shoot me I can’t help you get him back.”

“We don’t need your sort of help,” said Dayna. She glanced at Cally, who was watching in confusion. “This is Purnell. You’d better get Avon.” Turning back to the intruder, she said deliberately, “I’ll stay here.”

Cally, with a dark look for Purnell, hurried to the flight deck. She quickly returned with Avon, who lost no time in taking over from Dayna.

“What is he doing on board? And where’s Tarrant?”

“I can explain!” Purnell looked as if he preferred Dayna’s threats to Avon’s menacing look.

“We’re waiting.”

“And while you explain, you can tell us what you’ve given Vila,” added Cally.

“Oh. That. It won’t really hurt him; she wanted you all alive...”

“I think Vila might disagree,” remarked Avon. “He seems to be finding it an exceedingly painful experience. As will you, if you don’t start talking.”

“He’ll be fine! Really! It wears off in a day or two... I had to do something, she said she’d murder me if they couldn’t catch you...”

“There are worse fates.”

Purnell gulped. “I wouldn’t _kill_ anyone!”

“Just deliver them for Servalan to kill instead?” Dayna suggested. “Is that what you’ve done with Tarrant?”

“No... No! I just- er- borrowed this.” He held up his wrist to display the teleport bracelet. “He said you wanted to talk to me,” he wheedled. “And you haven’t got that relay connector yet. You still want it, don’t you? I can still tell you how to get in. Just please don’t put me back down there. You don’t know what it’s like, being hunted for your life...” Purnell hurriedly amended this dubious claim. “Not all alone, anyway, and I didn’t want to help her, I had no choice...”

Avon remained unmoved. “Where is Tarrant?”

“Where I left him. Look, I was desperate... I haven’t hurt him. I don’t think. And I definitely haven’t hurt your other friend, at least not permanently... you’ll help me, won’t you? You have to help me! I only got involved because you wanted that connector... and I can still help you get it...”

Avon took a step forwards; Purnell took a corresponding one backwards, into the teleport bay.

“Cally...” Avon waited just long enough for Cally to reach the controls before giving Purnell his answer. “ _Now get off my ship!”_


	10. A crew member has been forgotten...

The teleport effect had barely worn off before Avon angrily shook the shrinking figure who had materialised beside him. “Now where’s Tarrant?” Purnell recoiled even more than he had on being forcibly teleported off the _Liberator._

“I left him here...” he stammered.

“Avon! How nice of you to drop in,” interrupted a cool, familiar voice. Purnell stopped; Avon ignored him, turning instead to the newcomer.

“Servalan.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You weren’t expecting me?”

“I was expecting Tarrant. He,” Avon indicated Purnell in disgust, “Left him here. Apparently.”

“Yes, he did. And then I found him. Did you particularly want him back?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s too late?”

“Not at all. I shall be only too happy to reunite you. And perhaps the rest of the _Liberator’s_ crew... would you ask Cally and Dayna to join us?”

“What about...” Purnell choked to a halt as he felt Avon’s gun digging into his back; hurriedly, he changed his query. “What about me?”

“You’ve been very useful,” Servalan told him consolingly, making the faintest signal to her waiting men. Several guns were lined up in the direction of the captives. “You might as well drop your gun, Avon. You won’t be needing it.” Silently, Avon threw down the weapon. “Now; the others?”

“You seriously expect me to call them down here?”

“If you don’t want me to have you shot.”

Avon treated this suggestion with contempt; Purnell, terrified and still in possession of Tarrant’s stolen bracelet, had no such compunction. He fumbled to activate the communicator.

“We need you down here, now!” he called.

“Avon?” It was Cally’s voice; but Avon remained mute. Servalan, her patience strained, took a step closer and grabbed Purnell’s wrist.

“I’m afraid he’s otherwise engaged,” she told Cally. “Avoiding a firing squad. He might need your help.” There was a shocked silence; Servalan smiled. “It’s really very simple. I want you all down here. Avon doesn’t seem inclined to ask you to come.”

“If I have no choice in the matter,” said Avon suddenly, “Cally, your presence and Dayna’s is required if I am not to be summarily shot, it seems. Tarrant has already been captured. Get Orac to operate the teleport. That will leave the ship _completely unmanned_ , will it not? Which I believe is what is wanted.”

There was another silence; then Cally answered slowly. “Yes.”

“You needn’t bring your weapons,” added Servalan kindly. “After all, I’m sure it would only hold you up.”

“We’ll need time to connect Orac to the teleport system.”

“Very well. But I suggest you don’t take too long.”

“We’ll try our best.” That was Dayna, trying unsuccessfully to hide her fury. There was a wait which seemed to take longer than it really was; then she and Cally, too, appeared.

“Excellent. I was beginning to wonder if you had changed your minds,” Servalan greeted them.

“I wasn’t aware we had a choice,” replied Cally coldly. 

“Well. We’re all here.” Avon’s face remained impassive, but nobody contradicted his statement. “What are you going to do now?”


	11. Wrath

“What’s next, that’s what I want to know!” Vila looked at Orac indignantly. “Oh, you’ve been poisoned, never mind, Vila, you’ll feel better soon, now we’re just going to abandon you while you’re still feeling terrible, and while we’re gone can you single-handedly stop Servalan capturing the _Liberator_...”

“That is an unnecessary exaggeration. You still have the use of both hands.”

“Shut up, Orac; you know what I mean. And then go and rescue everybody else, because they go walking off to be prisoners... it’s all Tarrant’s fault!” Orac said nothing; Vila glared at him. “Well, haven’t you anything to suggest?”

“I was under the impression you wished me to remain silent.”

“Not if you’ve got something useful to say. I don’t suppose you have, have you? Useless box of nothing...”

“If you wish to carry out your appointed task, I suggest you get on with it.” This time Orac sounded nettled.

“If I do... I’ve a good mind to leave them to it...” complained Vila, at the same time withdrawing a gun from the rack and gingerly belting it round himself. “Just put this on and go chasing after them, never mind if you’ve got a stomach ache and it’s going to make it worse... because being poisoned temporarily’s nearly the same as not being poisoned at all... I don’t suppose they’ll even appreciate it...” He paused, heading for the teleport section, and looked back at Orac. “You’re sure this’ll work?”

“The opportunity to further study the Zen computer’s defence against intruders will be most illuminating.”

“I’ll pass, thanks. I feel bad enough as it is.” Vila disappeared from the flight deck, still muttering. “Can’t even have a drink before I go... soma’s supposed to be a painkiller, isn’t it? Dry planet! What did Tarrant have to go and find a dry planet for? Serve him right if I left him there...” 

The string of irate complaints was temporarily halted by the effect of the teleport; but it started up again as Vila attempted to regain his footing on what appeared to be the edge of a manhole.

“And you could get the coordinates a bit more accurate!” he yelled furiously into his bracelet, drawing his gun in a manner which suggested it would have taken very little to tip him into actually using it. “Rat in a box... you wait...” He looked down at the opening in the ground. “Oh, no. No. That’s not the way in to wherever Servalan’s got them. Orac?”

“You wished to have as little walking as possible involved in your rescue attempt,” came Orac’s reply. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am receiving a request for teleport...”

“I didn’t mean I wanted to swap walking for crawling!” Vila stared at the entrance in dismayed fury. “That’s it! Tarrant, I’ll get you for this... and the others... and if anyone gets in my way they had better look out!” Reluctantly, he dropped into the hole. The pipe, thankfully, was not as long as he had feared. He soon found himself looking up through a locked grating at four familiar figures; rattling it brought him to their attention.

Avon leaned over the grating. “You took your time,” he said caustically, before retreating as a Liberator handgun poked threateningly through it.

“I... took... my... time...?” choked Vila, almost beyond speech.

“Yes, well...”

_“Do you want me to open this or not?!” ___


	12. Hope

“Just get us out, Vila,” said Avon.

There was no point in arguing with that. Vila, suddenly too tired to be angry, poked experimentally at the lock on the grating between himself and the others. Not a complicated one, but awkwardly positioned. Nor did the impatient silence from above make working on it any easier.

“Hurry up.”

“All right!” Twisted uncomfortably to reach the lock, Vila sighed. Hope still conjured up a picture of a swift and easy rescue leading to unalloyed expressions of gratitude from the others, followed by an immediate return to the comfort and safety of the _Liberator_ , and maybe a drink. Experience told him he would probably be disappointed.

“Today, Vila!” It was Tarrant who confirmed his thoughts.

“All _right_. There, it’s open.” He handed through the teleport bracelets he was carrying, then realised Tarrant was beckoning him upwards himself. “Me? You don’t want me up there. I’d never fit through that gap.” Vila looked critically at the hole where he had removed the grating. “It’s a monkey you’d want... or a child...”

“I’m sure you’re a reasonable substitute,” said Tarrant. “Now come on. We still need that relay connector, and we can’t get to it unless you come and open this cell door.”

Vila looked at Avon. “Since when is he in charge?”

“You are our self-proclaimed expert on locks,” Avon pointed out.

“Come on, Vila,” added Dayna encouragingly. “They say you’ll fit through any gap that’s big enough for your head to get through.”

Vila debated whether to suggest that Tarrant would have no chance with this one, then, and decided that it probably wasn’t worth it. Reluctantly, he handed his gun up to Avon, and squeezed painfully through the opening after it. He sat on the edge of the hole, looking sick and shivery, and waited.

“You seem to have managed after all,” remarked Avon, helping him to his feet. “Now; can you open that?”

Vila inspected the cell door unenthusiastically.

“Do I have to? Orac’s ready...” He stopped as he caught Avon’s expression. “Yes.”

“And then you had better go back to the ship,” put in Cally. Vila showed a faint flicker of renewed hope at this; then he remembered Orac’s experiments with Zen’s defences, and drooped again.

“Not on my own,” he said, imagining the flight deck littered with the remains of Servalan’s men.

“You’ll have Orac,” said Dayna.

“That’s what worries me.”

“And you’re not going to be any use down here, staggering about in that state,” added Tarrant.

“Whose fault’s that?” demanded Vila, pausing to glare at him. Tarrant flushed. 

“Well, Cally can go back with you, then.”

“Once you have opened the door,” said Avon pointedly. Vila went back to work, but with slightly less reluctance than before. Maybe not all hope had been extinguished; he could settle for being allowed to sleep in peace until he was feeling better, while Cally took care of the _Liberator’s_ defences. If the others wanted to go chasing their relay connector, good luck to them...

“Open,” he answered, sounding almost cheerful. “Orac? Two to teleport!”


	13. Envy

“Avon?” Cally had avoided trying to contact the others since she and Vila had returned to the ship, afraid of inadvertently drawing attention to them; but the feeling that something had gone wrong was suddenly overwhelming. There was, as she had almost expected, no answer. “Avon, we must move soon. You need to come back now.”

The communicator remained obstinately silent.

Well, she couldn’t go looking for them. Orac was too slow with the teleport, in case of emergency; and Vila would be no better, she suspected. He had been asleep when Cally looked in on him, but moaning and shifting so restlessly that she had forgotten her irritation at being left to clear the results of Zen’s defences from the flight deck alone, and retreated without waking him. He would be more of a liability than a help.

“Avon!” She knew, somehow, that she was wasting her time, but doing nothing grated. It often did, if she thought about it; somehow, she wasn’t sure quite how or when, she seemed to have become the one who was left on watch. The thought, once it was there, led to a sudden pang of envy. Even if the others were in trouble, they at least had the chance of doing something active to get out of it. Dayna and Tarrant never seemed to be expected to just sit and wait; and if Avon ever did so, it was by his own choice. Even Vila got dragged along to do things, and he would probably have been equally envious of the chance to sit safely behind the teleport controls with nothing to do but operate them at the appropriate moment... Maybe she should wake him after all, Cally thought, and let him do just that. Something had definitely gone wrong. She could feel it.

She got to her feet. She ought to check on Vila anyway, she told herself; he had, after all, been looking genuinely ill. _And nobody else is going to do it._ The frustrated note of envy crept in again. Rebel or nursemaid? At least the others knew their place; or seemed to. Cally shook herself out of that thought; it was no help to anyone, after all, and it certainly did nothing to temper her frustration. She still paused, however, unable to completely ignore the longing to be fully involved with proceedings on the planet below.

“Orac?” She turned to the computer sitting on the teleport desk. “There haven’t been any Federation communications from Valspar Minor, have there? Nothing that could involve the others?”

“Nothing,” confirmed Orac. Cally sighed. It was what she had expected, but it only added more unease to her restless state.

“Then can you mind the teleport while I go and check on Vila?”

“If I must,” came the grudging agreement.

Cally turned to go; and it was then, predictably, that the communicator crackled into life.

“Cally.” That was unmistakably Avon. “We seem to have run into some old acquaintances. Apparently they’d like us to enter into certain negotiations. Can you hold on up there a little longer?”


	14. The crew encounter the Terra Nostra again…

Avon, Tarrant and Dayna, having emerged from their prison, did not waste any time in looking for the man who had landed them there. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that Purnell, wherever he was, could stay there and rot. So far, after all, he had proved fairly useless in the attempt to obtain the relay connector they were looking for. 

“Do we have any idea where we’re going?” queried Dayna.

“The technical department,” answered Tarrant.

“And we know where that is?” If Avon’s tone was intended to slow his confident progress along the corridor, it didn’t succeed. Tarrant barely halted.

“I’ve a fair idea. And we know where it isn’t. Do you want to waste time looking for Purnell so he can show us? It’s not as if he’s exactly reliable...”

“Ah, so you had noticed,” Avon remarked. Tarrant did pause, this time, looking annoyed.

“I don’t see...”

What he failed to see remained unspoken, as three men appeared from round the corner. One they recognised as a crony of Purnell’s; the other two, elegantly attired in black, were unfamiliar. The guns they carried, however, were recognisable enough; as was their ability to use them.

“That would be Tarrant?” one of them suggested. Purnell’s man nodded.

“What about it?” Tarrant demanded. “Is this another of Servalan’s tricks?”

“Servalan? No; we don’t bother with her,” said the older of the strangers. “Her business... let us just say it is not exactly ours. Our business is with someone else entirely.” He looked quizzically at Avon, who stared impassively back.

“Do you mean us?” Dayna was puzzled as much as angry at the new threat; but she was ignored.

“Kerr Avon,” said the older man.

“Yes. I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” replied Avon coolly.

“Oh, but you know of the organisation to whom I belong. Although perhaps you would find it difficult to prove its existence.”

“The Terra Nostra,” said Avon. His opponent smiled.

“You see, we are on the same page after all. A pity Blake is not with you, but...”

“Blake hasn’t been with me for some time. What do you want?”

“A small matter of compensation.”

“Is there something you’d like to let us in on?” queried Tarrant.

Avon didn’t bother to look at him. “Not particularly. Compensation?”

“Shadow is... was... a profitable commodity.”

This time Avon smiled. “Usually when supplies diminish the price rises,” he pointed out.

“You were involved in supplying shadow?” Dayna sounded revolted.

“He was involved in destroying it,” corrected the representative of the Terra Nostra. “Not very wise. Now you might just wish you’d stayed around for your lady President. Her methods of removal seem very haphazard... compared to ours.”

“No doubt. What are you suggesting? These two weren’t involved with your complaint.”

“No. I’m told there are still two of your crew who were, however. Perhaps you’d like to let them know we’re here.” It was not a suggestion. For a second Avon still didn’t move; then he lifted his bracelet and spoke. 

“Cally? We seem to have run into some old acquaintances. Apparently they’d like us to enter into certain negotiations. Can you hold on up there a little longer?”


	15. Courage

“Does Purnell have any other friends you weren’t aware of?” inquired Avon, giving Tarrant a look of disgust. Tarrant, for once, bit back an angry retort; the Terra Nostra agent pointing a gun at them did, after all, lend weight to the query.

“Purnell? Oh, we’re nothing to do with him. No doubt he would like to think he is associated with us; but we do not tolerate failures.”

Avon turned his gaze to the man who had spoken. “Failures such as the destruction of a crop of shadow? It has taken you a remarkably long time to do anything about it.”

“There were...obstacles.”

“Such as?”

“Finding you, for one thing. However, Kai here was kind enough to inform us when he found out what Purnell was doing for your lady President...”

“She’s not _our_ lady President,” put in Dayna coldly.

“No? Well, as I have said, nor is she ours.”

“One day I’m going to kill her.”

“Yes? I rather think you may need to join a queue for that honour. If, indeed, you mean it. Not everyone has the courage of their convictions, after all.”

“How very true,” agreed a unexpected voice. Dayna whirled round to face the speaker; Avon and Tarrant turned more slowly, while their opponents stood stock still. Servalan smiled at them. “Some people... hedge their bets, shall we say? Kai?”

The Terra Nostra’s informant refused to meet her eyes. Tarrant, seeing the potential stand-off occurring, made a move towards his teleport bracelet; but instantly the enforcer’s gun covered him, while Servalan held up a hand in warning.

“I think we all have things to discuss, don’t you?” she suggested. “And now seems as good a time as any.” She made a gesture; instantly, a number of Federation guards appeared. “Wouldn’t you say so, Avon?”

“If you put it like that, I don’t see how we can refuse.”


	16. An invitation is received...

“After you.” Servalan stood aside for Avon; he stepped forward, taking no notice of the guns pointed at him. Tarrant and Dayna followed. “Take care of those, won’t you?” They were vaguely aware, as they were marched away, of Federation troops closing in on their recent adversaries.

To their surprise, they were not led back to the cell they had so recently vacated, but to an office. Avon watched Servalan seat herself at the desk, then asked,

“So what do you want? As if I can’t guess.”

“The _Liberator_ ,” confirmed Servalan.

“It’s occupied.”

“I’m aware of that. I was just about to send a message to the occupants. It seems a shame that you should be separated like this.” She raised a confiscated teleport bracelet. “Cally? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” confirmed Cally. From her tone, she had recognised the voice instantly.

“I’m issuing you with an invitation. Leave the _Liberator_ and allow my men to board her without trouble, and I may not have your friends summarily shot after all.”

Despite the distance, Cally could almost feel the others willing her not to agree; she frowned, her fingers hesitating over the teleport controls.

“I would need more of a guarantee than that,” she answered.

“I promise not to kill them before you get here. Will that do?” There was silence for a moment; then Servalan added, “You _and_ Vila. He is there, I take it?”

Cally played for time. “That might not be possible. The teleport stress...”

“Oh, isn’t he feeling well? Most unfortunate. Still, it’s probably temporary. Although I have found Purnell’s grasp of the truth a little questionable at times.”

“If you want us both,” Cally replied, swallowing sudden worry, “Then you’ll have to let us discuss it. If we both agree, then your men can come aboard. Will you wait?”

“All right. But not for long. I suggest you make your discussion swift.”

Cally needed no second bidding. Running to Vila’s cabin, she barely stopped to knock before entering to shake him awake.

He groaned painfully at this unexpected treatment. “What...who... _ohh_... Cally? Wha’s’marrer?”

“Vila! Wake up!”

“Here, I was _asleep_ , you know... and no, I don’t feel better, not that I suppose you were thinking of asking...” He sat up, shivering, and took in Cally’s disturbed expression. “Cally? What is it?” His eyes widened in alarm. “It’s not me, is it? I mean, it’s not something fatal after all... Is it? It is, isn’t it...”

“We’ve just had a message from Servalan.”

“Oh, no.” He doubled up and leant over the edge of the bed, suddenly sitting very still. “How long have I got?”

“Vila, listen. She has the others. Unless we teleport down, she is going to shoot them.”

Vila seemed to be having difficulty in listening, but he looked vaguely hopeful at this.

“She wasn’t just telling you they’ve given me some deadly poison after all?”

Cally didn’t answer directly, the seed of doubt sown by Servalan’s comment still too fresh in her mind. “She wants us to let her take the _Liberator_.”

Vila heard the evasion and guessed its meaning. “She can have it! At least being shot’ll be quicker than this...” Wincing, he staggered to his feet. “Come on; don’t just stand there...”

“We can’t! Look... I may have an idea.”


	17. Pride

“Are you sure this’ll work?” Vila looked doubtfully at the small experimental gun of Dayna’s which Cally was pocketing.

“It is our only chance.”

“Whose only chance?”

“Oh, Vila... Perhaps it is not as bad as you think.”

“It feels worse.”

Cally didn’t answer that, but leant over the teleport. “Servalan? We agree. We will come down.”

“I thought you might. Why let senseless pride lie in the way of survival?” They could almost hear the smile in the reply.

* * *

“She shouldn’t have agreed!” burst out Dayna, waiting frustratedly alongside Avon and Tarrant.

“You would rather die?” Servalan looked at her with interest.

“We’re going to anyway, aren’t we? You’ve as good as said Vila already is...”

Servalan laughed. “Have I? You really think I would trust someone as unreliable as Purnell with a deadly poison?”

“You were just trying to frighten them into agreeing,” said Tarrant disgustedly.

“And it seems to have worked,” she replied, as two shimmering outlines appeared, then solidified. An ashen-faced Vila wobbled and clutched Cally’s arm to hold himself upright as everyone turned to look at them; Cally took no notice.

_Avon, be ready._

Avon’s expression did not falter at the telepathic message; he continued to regard them coldly.

“What were you hoping to achieve with this pointless display of self-sacrifice?” he enquired.

“A quick end,” replied Vila, with a gulp. “Oh, no...” He turned away hurriedly; one of Servalan’s guards, suspecting an escaping prisoner, made a grab for him.

“I wouldn’t...” began Tarrant, too late. There was a deathly, if not entirely silent, pause, until Vila managed to look up from the guard’s boots.

“Sorry,” he offered faintly. The guard raised a fist; but Servalan broke in,

“Leave him! Go and get yourself cleaned up.” She watched in distaste as the man reluctantly left the room, missing Cally’s momentary flicker of pleasure at this unexpected reduction in the enemy, then switched her gaze to Vila. “That drug really is effective. I must remember it.” She smiled as he slumped against the wall with a groan. “You are going to be a handicap to the others, aren’t you?”

“He is anyway,” said Avon shortly. “I presume you have a plan in mind?”

“It turns out the people of Valspar Minor were rather enjoying a fugitive hunt via live viscast. Who am I to deprive them of that pleasure?”

“The agreement was that in return for the _Liberator_ , we kept our lives,” protested Cally.

“Exactly. It would be very difficult to hunt dead fugitives, after all. Of course, the rules of the game are entirely out of my hands.”

“But you know it’s a death sentence!”

This idea produced another heartrending groan from Vila; the others looked at him sharply. He gave Cally a desperate glance, attempted to stand upright, and staggered hopelessly. Cally moved as if to catch him; Dayna went to help, her hesitation barely noticeable as she realised all was not as it seemed. 

_Now, Avon._ Cally lined up the little gun as Dayna instinctively blocked Servalan’s line of sight; at close range, the guard picked as her target had no chance. Avon, warned, grabbed the Federation rifle which clattered to the ground as the man fell, while Tarrant hurried to tackle the other remaining guard.

Cally waited no longer.

“Orac! Teleport, _now!”_


	18. Charity

The entire _Liberator_ crew arriving in the teleport bay at once proved to create something of a squash; but a quick glance reassured everyone that there were just the five of them there. Avon’s expression, as he regarded his companions, was less reassuring.

“If this is the result of your best attempt at negotiation, I suggest we don’t waste any more time here,” he snarled at Tarrant. “Go and set a course.”

“I had to work with what I could get...”

“You are not the only one! Now get us out of here, or did your stunning plan involve waiting for Servalan to catch up with us?”

“But...”

“Do it!”

“I don’t want to die here,” agreed Vila, staggering towards a seat. Dayna rolled her eyes as he collapsed onto the teleport bench with an anguished groan.

“You aren’t dying, Vila. You’re making too much noise, for one thing,” she said uncharitably.

“What would you know about it? I’m in agony here! And Servalan as good as said...”

“Servalan was trying to scare you.”

“Not that she’d need to try very hard,” added Tarrant, earning himself another glare from Avon at his continued presence. “All right!” He gave a gesture of surrender. “Where are we going?”

“I’m definitely not dying?” The interruption was muffled, but hopeful.

“No, Vila.” This time it was Cally who reassured him; sitting up a little, he glowered at Tarrant.

“Then I’m going to bed. You can go wherever you like.” Vila’s tone implied he could have made a few suggestions as to where Tarrant could go, but he settled for heading pointedly, if somewhat unsteadily, for his cabin. The others let him go, following Avon to the flight deck instead.

Tarrant went straight to the controls, despite Avon's not having given any further instruction as to their destination. As if anticipating the question, Avon said,

"Anywhere."

“But what about the relay connector? You said it was important...”

“It is. But I happen to value my life more. The connector can wait.”

"I am picking up a transmission,” announced Orac suddenly. 

“Servalan?” suggested Cally.

“No doubt,” agreed Avon. “All right, Orac, what is it?”

“It appears to be a continuation of the previous viscast.”

The stars of the previous viscast exchanged glances. 

“Go on,” said Avon. A picture appeared on the main screen; Servalan, it appeared, had not given up on her involvement with Valspar Minor’s fugitive hunt. In place of the _Liberator’s_ crew, however, stood Purnell, his unlucky associate, and the Terra Nostra’s incompetent recruit. The announcer’s voice cut in,

“...the proceeds of your votes will go towards supporting the Blue Riband Association...” 

Cally looked appalled. “Avon, we cannot allow...”

“Oh, I think we can.” Avon smiled. “After all, it is for charity.”


End file.
